


Where the Grass is Greener

by bebster



Series: Petrified [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, M/M, Multi, fic: Petrified, fic: WTGG, jeanmarco, kirschtiny, little to no serious trigger warnings apply, sfw, yumikuri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-21 20:27:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3704095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bebster/pseuds/bebster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It is better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all."</p><p>After a lifetime of flustering flirtations and finding crushes out of strangers, Jean stumbles upon his biggest crush yet. When this innocent crush amounts to a soulmate on levels Jean can not even fathom, he learns that he is a part of something much larger than himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> before reading!!!!:  
> \- this is in beta still so i apologize for all errors I KNOW there are many.. esp with present vs past tense  
> \- this moves fast so???  
> \- chapter one is set up with bg info on yumikuri and this universe  
> \- chapter two is all the jeanmarco fluff  
> \- thaaaanks!
> 
> other:  
> I HAVE BEEN WANTING TO WRITE THIS FOR OVER A YEAR AND NOW I HAVE AND I DONT LIKE IT SOOOOOO???? ITLL GET BETTER BUT THIS CHAPTER IS DRY SO SORRY

Where the Grass is Greener

I heard some where before, that in certain places underwater you can see clouds. Unique isn’t it? Clouds aren’t a true structure in my eyes, they aren’t things with a solid form to be recreated. A painter may paint a white puff, a sketcher may outline an empty bubble, but what about sculptors? What about me?  
  
Last week my friend Connie and I made a bet. Whoever could get a girlfriend first didn’t have to go with our professor to this museum. As it turns out, Mr. Smith really wants to take someone to this new museum downtown, and Connie is about to ask this one girl out for a while now. In the end, I get to spend my Saturday walking around a museum of paintings. I’m not a painter.  
  
Thursday, during class, Mr. Smith is explaining techniques of paintings and their relations to sketching. Towards the end of the lesson he brought back up the issue of the museum. His excitement for our little trip is becoming flat out embarrassing and obnoxious. This museum is of paintings and paintings have to deal with sketches. I’m not a sketcher.  
  
Yesterday, is found to be boring. Connie is taking Sasha, his new girl, out and I really don’t have any other friends. To me, a friend is someone who puts up with all my bull. Connie is full of his own crap so I don’t have to worry about mine. He is a pain however, all day he is texting me jokes about my tomorrow ‘date’ with our teacher. Of course it isn’t a date, but it is still something I didn’t want to do. Walking around with some stiff old man in a building completely void of sculptures… void of what I want.

Today is the day. I feel maybe I have been dreading this too much but frankly, I am not a fan of Mr. Smith. He is abnormally… creepy. And his eyebrows are something to be made fun of. Those two fuzz balls are like baby caterpillars caressing his forehead. Hanging out with him in a public place should not be on my ‘to do list’.

But it is… and maybe it’s a little work of destiny.

“Thirty one dollars and seven cents.” The fluorescent lights numbed my mind. It felt like I am slipping into a coma or another world, anywhere but here. People were walking like mindless zombies: barely stopping to even glance at a picture or two. It ticked me off. But I don’t know what else I have been expecting. “Thirty one dollars and seven cents.” Is someone talking to me? That’s a nuisance. “Jean.” I had to have looked drunk. My mouth is hanging open and I am staring partially up at the bright lights. I recompose myself and turn to see Mr. Smith straightening his tie nervously hoping for me to make a decent impression. “Jean that’s how much the entry fee is. Pay it.” He is such a lovely man isn’t he? So curt, to the point, and bland. I did promise to pay this fee earlier this week. My pockets were slim and my wallet is right there, waiting to be emptied. I toss up the money (which is an unnecessarily large amount) and allowed the taller man to lead me deeper into the museum.

People. Humans. Society. It is all beautiful in my perspective. Look at the basic physique of a standard person. Unique. Protruding shoulders, and especially long jawlines. I loved it. Humans, I love them. They have such beautiful simplicity that cannot be compared to any other animal. Hands, I love those more. Hands are the world’s most unique thing yet, and I could sculpt them all day forever. In the paintings around me hands aren’t truly defined. Most painters simply glaze over the top of the hand, ignoring the bumps and lies of the knuckles and fingers. Being a sculptor I draw as well, but that form of art will never suffice in representing the beauty of the body; let alone hands.

I stop to let my eyes roll onto a certain painting. It is smaller than the ones found on the cream walls. It is pretty and consisted of a young girl braiding her mother’s hair. I, as usual, let my eyes land on the girl’s hands. They were preciously drawn. Mr. Smith is behind me staring at a red square painted in a yellow circle. Art. I shrug it off and turn back to the painting when I feel a tug on my shoulder. A young little girl with angelic facial features tugged on my sleeve. She couldn’t have been older than seven. Blonde hair rested at her shoulders and her eyes stared straight up into mine.  
“Do you need something?” I ask as politely as possible. She only gives me a small toothy grin and a shake of her head. Without saying anything she skipped, almost silently, towards the end of corridor and turned to the right. So inexplicably young and ignorant, she astonished me. She didn’t seem very airheaded but I’ve learned not to judge a book by its cover. Turning back to the painting I begin to count the freckles on the young girl’s face. This painting is absolutely beautiful. Admiring the tall physique, dark wavy hair, and sparsely placed freckles of the girl is an uncommon type of tranquility. Art often depicted girls as ignorant ‘beauties’ and women as mothers. This is an older painting but still accepted views that went against casual beliefs. I look to the painting’s plaque: “Ymir, by Maria and Rose”. The name suited it well. I could only assume Ymir is the young girl. I stare straight at her face and see something move. I don’t know where or how. But I feel like I saw something in the photo change. “Follow Historia.” The voice belonged to a female and felt as if it is right behind me. It is deep and soothing, each syllable slowly vibrating its way down my spine.  
Follow Historia… Did anyone else hear that?

Mr. Smith, or Erwin as he hadd earlier asked me to address him, is talking to a creepy short security guard. While his attention is diverted I went ahead and followed that little girl. I some reason wish that she is Historia, lost, or some magical being that has the key to Narnia. No, I am just being foolish and a simple human who is following my only source of excitement for the day. I turn the same way the girl hadd. It is a dead end. Well, not exactly. At the end of the hall is a single turn into an “other arts” room. This room is on the map and I remembered Erwin saying it is just storage for the place. Even so, I still thought there would be people down here; this is the museum’s grand opening and there is a gross abundance of people.  
I end up slowly walking into the room; it is in fact spotless when it came to humans. No one is around. The room however, did resemble a storage area with all the extra paintings stacked on top of each other. What caught my attention more so than anything, is a statue of a bell tower and a great wall around it. It is labeled Sina. No, it isn’t a statue of a person, but it is a statue nonetheless. I instantly begin sizing it up, noting its noble height, and trying to notice flaws in its imperfect details. It is a splendid statue.  
“Exquisite isn’t it?” Words again are spoken from behind me. Except this time when I turn around, I see a novel figure standing behind me. Tall, slender yet toned, tan yet pale. The being is difficult to get my eyes to focus on. I know that I have to look dumbfounded just staring at him with a blank expression. I tap my converse on the ground and watch him as he walks towards the statue. He has a very relaxed smile across his face and his hands were held behind his back. Heel to toe, he silently admired the statue.  
“I’m Marco, and I think this statue gives me sorrow.” I look at him, trying to perceive what he looked like. I could undeniably give him picturesque. His personal physique is one of my favorites. “So do you always talk in rhymes or what?” I ask him, trying to lighten up his ghostly atmosphere. Instead of a joke reply as expected from a fellow college aged teen, he gives me a smile. His cheeks are pulled upwards and his teeth are shown reflecting the light from their hygienic appearance. “Not at all. It is just coincidental.” I give him a small smile and just slowly walk towards the exit. “Well, Marco, I’m going to go look at some other paintings now.” I say slowly as I head out the door. I turn back to get one last glimpse of the boy. He is bent down staring at the statue. Why is he in there? The room is pretty boring, even with the statue.  
“Yo Marco. Are you confined in that room or something?”  
Marco stood up and offered a soft smile. “Something like that.” I shrug and went back to Erwin.

I retrace my steps to find the fatherly professor still conversing with the short guard. It took me a moment to decide if I should approach the two of them since they seem to be getting awfully friendly with each other, or venture further into the museum on my own. After waiting a few minutes the two of them showed no signs of backing off but I ended up approaching Erwin nonetheless.  
“Yo Erwin, what’s the plan?” The big blond pulled away from the shorter man embarrassedly as he straightened his tie to recompose himself.  
“Ah Jean. Meet Levi. Levi, this is one of my top students, Jean.” I offer a glare to Erwin to which he didn’t take happily. Turning to this ‘Levi’ I see his hand is out, waiting for mine to shake it. I oblige and smile as we exchange customary “nice to meet you’s” and others. Levi truly intimates me. He also isn’t my favorite person to look at. He is an attractive man for the most part, but he carried a grimace even deeper than my own, (and that is hard to accomplish).  
“Well Jean, you’re more than welcome to head back home. Thanks for coming with me.” Erwin is a smart man and he knows me well. I don’t smile or give nice salutations before leaving. I merely glare daggers into his soul until he walks off in the other direction with Levi. I’m a little pissed. I spent ten dollars to drag his old butt in here to walk around for barely thirty minutes. At least I’m on his good side now.

My apartment is much more elaborate than you would assume for a college senior. Apparently my parents did not hate me as much as I once assumed since they personally dipped into their abundance of wealth to share with me. My apartment is on the top floor of one of those infamous New York skyscrapers seen in the pictures and has two bedrooms, two baths, a large kitchen beside a large living room, and even a big wide studio with ventilation, (so I don’t suffocate on fumes), and a wall dedicated to one large window for inspiration. Although this list isn’t very important, I can’t help but to admire my living quarters every time I enter; I did only move in two months ago. The walls are painted a pale shade of grey that somehow shimmers in the light and the kitchen is entirely white and lime green. It is so modern and chic, so open and ritzy; it is what I dreamed of. I always dreamed of the fancy New York flat with my art studio. Of course then the studio is to be designated for painting, but that obviously isn’t the case now.  
After brewing myself a cup of coffee and adding four sugar packets to the bitter concoction I make my way to my precious studio. Deformed clay and stone figures were scattered and shattered across the room; some more dismembered than others. Several of the bodies are shoved into the back corner waiting for me to finish them. I feel bad, like a parent neglecting its child, but those sculptures weren’t fun to make. If I stop, I stop for a reason.  
But tonight, as the time is nearing eight at night now, I can tell would not be like my recent art encounters. I feel prepared to dirty my hands and create some fucking masterpieces. I roll up my jacket sleeves and quite literally kick on the dirty boom box. I take a heavy sigh as an old emo song instantly takes off. I’d skip ahead but my hands are already elbow-deep in a clay bath. I swirl my arms around the orange tub until feeling the large clay clump soften and tear apart. I slab it down onto its base stand and take yet another sigh. I have an ugly lump of clay and no clue what I am planning on doing. I’m saved from my own mental torment when I feel my back pocket buzz. I haven’t even started yet and I have to go wash my hands. I ran over to the random-but-not-random-at-all,-sink in the room and rinsed off my hands and dried them on the crusty towel before finally checking my phone. Connie Springer. I breathe out the oxygen from my lungs in yet another dramatic sigh of the day. I tapped the green button.  
“What.”  
“JEAN MY LOVE! MY BEAUTY! I THOUGHT YOU WOULD NEVER ANSWER!” It isn’t Connie’s asinine voice over the speaker. This time it is a female’s, but it seemed to be someone just as foolish.  
“Yeah uh… Hello? Who is this?” I race over to the stereo and kick it off, feeling my art boner fly away with it.  
“UH WOW. It’s me Sasha. You know, your like, sister-in-law.” I haven’t met this girl yet but I can still imagine her twirling her hand and rolling her eyes at my ignorance.  
“Ah hi there Sasha. I don’t think I’ve made the pleasure of meeting you. But why are you calling me? And on Connie’s cell?”  
“He’s in the shower. It’s taking forever. You know, he has to rinse and repeat all those golden locks of his.”  
“Hm, funny. Last time I saw Connie his hair is brown.” This earns a giggle from the other end since Sasha and I both know Connie’s head is completely shaved.  
“You still haven’t told me why you’re calling.”  
“Oh right!” She began, resembling Connie’s airheaded ways. “Connie wanted to surprise visit you in a few minutes and I wanted to make sure you’re okay with it. It kind of takes away the surprise but you know, better that than you being ticked at us.”

I like Sasha. She’s nice.

I give a small chuckle before replying.  
“Thanks Sasha. It’s fine by me. I have nothing else to do anyways,” I say, eyeing my lump of clay. “See you soon.” With that, I end the call and decide to spend my final minutes alone cleaning my apartment.

My bachelor pad is not exactly dirty. It doesn’t have dirty clothes or dishes lying around. My bed isn’t usually unmade, and there are not any shoes just sitting at random places. Instead I have paint everywhere, my furniture is shoved into weird places due to a party a couple weekends ago, and I don’t dare to even glance at the accidentally shattered stone sculpture covered in smelly oils lying in the bathtub. I decide to clean that last.  
I get a bit of a sweat, but I manage to get things where they’re supposed to be by the time Connie arrives. I hear the buzzer and press my finger against the pearly “unlock” button. After another minute, maybe two, I hear voices, then a silence, and lastly a loud knock on my door. I open it to reveal my bald human of a friend and his “new meaning in life”, Sasha. She isn’t like I imagined, not that I have been picturing her. She just took me by surprise. Unlike Connie’s other investments, she isn’t filthy or sharing a close resemble to Satan’s ass. Instead she is a short, yet still taller than Connie, crimson-scalped girl with a small nose and big emerald eyes. Her smile grew and grew until I begin to fear it would jump off her face.  
“Connie.” She said, barely more than a whisper.  
“What.”  
“Why didn't you tell me?”  
“Tell you what?”  
“THAT JEAN IS A CUTIE PATOOTY! LOOK AT HIS WEE LITTLE ARTSY OUTFIT AND HIS ‘IM GAYSEXUAL’ HAIRCUT OH MY GOD CONNIE LOOK AT HIM!” Connie’s face twists into some mixture of pride and embarrassment while Sasha continues to give me the up-down. I merely try to figure out how she knew my sexuality. Am I that obvious? I shake my head and allow them to enter my apartment. Without asking, Connie bolts to my fridge and pulls out two beers for he and Sasha while she still stares at me. I rub the back of my neck hoping her gaze would shift away. Once Connie tossed her the Sam Adams her eyes danced around my apartment.  
“Nice place Jean.” The auburn slowly ventures further into the room until spotting my pure white sofa and then hopped onto to it, careful not to spill her beer. I cringe at the sight, expecting for the worse, but ended up surprised when nothing bad happened. Connie followed suit and fell onto the spot right beside Sasha. With his arm obnoxiously slung around the girl, he took another sip of the beverage and nodded me over. I obliged. Having very few friends made the friends you did have all the more possessive. I hadn’t expected them to stay for a long amount of time, but I know I am crazy for assuming that about Connie.  
“So Jeanny Boy, how is your old man date with Professor Erwin?” I glare at him.  
“Well you know,” I began, clicking my phone’s screen from on to off, then on again. “Fucking weird. We split ways for a few minutes and when I come back his face is right up in this other guy’s. Not in an angry way… more like a…”  
“…A ‘I wanna empty your balls way?’” Sasha piped.  
“Yeah exactly!”

I hurry through my adventurous story of Erwin and ‘Levi’ making the most disgusting faces to each other. Connie began to laugh like he always does when something is especially funny. He completely fell onto the ground and screamed into the carpet until Sasha yanked him back up to the couch scolding him for disrupting my downstairs neighbors (who banged something against their ceiling and shouted a neighborly “shut the fuck up”.) I don’t mention bumping into Marco or finding one of the single most stunning statues of my time. I’m not sure what Sasha would say to me following a random young girl a vacant hallway but I know Connie would make some joke or call bullshit. So instead I listen to Connie and Sasha talk about their lives together. From what I gather the two of them are already pretty domestic but more than anything those two are friends. I haven’t been in very many relationships, and none that have lasted more than two months, but I believe that has to be an important factor. Watching Sasha and Connie together is so strange since the two of them blend together like the sunset on an ocean. Their movements are in sync and their manners and words match. When Connie would reach over to the coffee table to grab his beer, Sasha would naturally bend to drink hers so neither of them would fall. It’s not like it is planned or anything, but the two of them are just able live beside each other without killing one another; I wonder what that’s like.  
Eventually the conversation leads into the topic of Sasha’s party next weekend. I go to large social events every now and again, but going to Sasha’s sounded like a real tiresome event. Considering the fact I would end up being the DD I know I couldn’t even get smashed and enjoy myself.  
“Oh god dammit Jean! It’s Sasha’s first party since you’ve met her,” I didn’t interrupt him to say I’ve only known her for an hour now, “and you totally need to come.” I would like to just say no, but since Sasha is right there I know I need to accept.  
“Alright fine you jackass. I’m going for Sasha not you, remember that.”

I would like to say the next week fast but to be honest it is one of the slowest of this year. Granted senior year is still fairly fresh, but this week is near to unbearable. I have Erwin first thing Monday morning and he is to say the least, embarrassing. He isn’t the worse part however; Connie came up with the bright idea during his class, to publicly ask him about his later endeavors with Levi. I watch Erwin’s face contort with humility, even though no one knows what Connie is talking about, then to rage. He questioned Connie but didn’t allow the baldy to respond. His furry caterpillar eyes were already glaring their caterpillar daggers into my soul.  
That was only Monday. On Tuesday and Wednesday I became unable to hold food down and is sweating through all my clothes. Of course as a college senior I didn’t have the option to take a day off. Thus I am perspiring onto my class projects and essays and having some near death experiences in class. For an example, on Wednesday I am about to throw up in a lecture hall and I ended up convulsing forward until banged my head on the seat of the student in front of me. That is troublesome but it isn’t as bad as all the vomiting that occurred between classes. The train of terror ended when Thursday rolled around. I successfully ate a bowl of cereal for breakfast and then a sushi for lunch. When I didn't throw up from the Meijer sushi I knew I am going to survive.  
Today is Friday. Whatever had invaded my body is now completely gone and I felt much better, even if this week seemed never ending. I’m relieved to be in the art studio, my favorite class. This class is not just my favorite class due to it being the last one before my long awaited weekend, but it also is my sculpting class. It isn't just talking about projects or anything, I got to actually perform art here.  
However I am a little bummed since today Professor Hanji, as they liked to be called, decided to talk to us about our future. I have no clue what they’re talking about and end up distracting my mind with tedious little doodles in my notebook. I’m decent at drawing even if it’s not my chosen weapon. I finish off a sketch and begin a new portrait. A drew a boy, perhaps closer to a man, with soft yet dignified features and a unique chocolate haircut. With my chin and mouth resting in my palm, I stare blankly at my drawing. I like this person. A lot. I drew him again, in a different angle, in a different mood, in a different outfit. When I am done the class is nearing completion and something still felt missing after about six drawings of the boy.

“Hey man class is over.” I glance up to see a big bulky man that looked like he belonged on the football field rather than this classroom.  
“Oh right. Thanks.” I speak as the blond burly man grabbed my notebook and looked at my drawing. Generally I wouldn’t care so much at other’s looking at my art but I felt oddly attached to those sketches. I try to grab the notebook from him but the man tossed it over to another boy even taller than him. This boy isn’t as husky but he is nearly as tall as the vaulted ceiling.  
“Reiner what are you doing? Stop tormenting him.” The tall brunette hands me my notebook back and takes his place beside the other.  
“Sheesh Bert I'm not doing anything!” Bert glares at him until Reiner leaned in to kiss him on the forehead. I blush a little and start fumbling with my things, hurriedly putting them into my bag.  
“Sorry. It’s just…” The blond who I gathered is Reiner began. “That guy you were drawing reminds me of this statue I saw at that new museum the other day.” I perk up at this. Statue? I am at the museum and it is strictly paintings besides the extra one found in the extra room.  
“It’s only missing freckles.” He finished. Freckles? I pull the notebook back out for a second. I instantly recognized the face belonging to Marco. Marco has freckles. I’m not sure what Reiner is talking about but I know I have definitely drawn Marco.  
“Freckles? On a statue?” I ask, wondering about the possibility.  
“Yeah I know! It was really weird! There wasn’t a plaque but whoever the artist is has to be really fucking talented!” Bert, the other tall guy, gave Reiner a playful smack at his choice of words. I guess he isn’t a fan of cursing. I continue to ponder over the idea of freckles on a statue. It seemed… not impossible, but instead dangerous. Carving millions of dots onto stone, marble, or a clay figure sounded like tedious work that would ultimately ruin a few people’s lives.  
Reiner gave me a pat on the back and tugged Bert by his sleeve to leave the room. I am by myself now in the big open studio except for Hanji who is finishing cleaning up their desk. I took one last glance at my drawings of Marco before hastily shoving them back into my bag and leaving the class. I have decided to add freckles. After a bowl of soup and a well-deserved nap the clock flipped to nine at night and I know Connie, maybe even Sasha, would drop kick me if I didn’t attend the party. Thus I yanked my eyelids apart and ripped my head off the pillow. It is just like waking up for high school all over again. I want to cry but I know that is excessive. So instead I take a shower and get ready to babysit a drunken Connie.

Connie had sent me Sasha’s address but my phone failed to load it. That’s a lie. It said her address is in Antarctica and I have a gut feeling that isn’t true. Therefore I drove around the ritzy suburban area until finding the number Connie sent. Sasha parents apparently left her the house when they moved to Florida. It is pretty nice deal considering Sasha now has a big elaborate house. Luckily it is pretty far back in the neighborhood and secluded from the other houses since a mosaic of cars is already featured across her lawn. The scene looks like something out of the new Great Gatsby film. The house is lit up top to bottom and music could be seen vibrating the entire mansion.  
I arrive later than most people and didn't want to get boxed in those who were arriving even later than I and end up parking all the way down the street. It is a chilly walk up the grassy road. It is eerie to pass all the empty cars but the scenic moment is obliterated when a bald kid is drunkenly found dancing in the back of his rusty Ford while screaming my name. I have no clue how Connie is already this wasted.  
“Yo Springer, where’s the hat?” Connie’s face contorted into some drunken and excited glare and before he fell out of the truck. I give an exaggerated eye roll and lift him up by his arm. “Hat Connie.” He chuckles for a moment before standing up and reaching in his pocket to hand me the felt hat.  
“There you go buddy bud Jeanny bud guy man.” His words are more than slurred and I know he can barely understand me at this point. I drag him into the crowded house by his shirt sleeve and shove my way through the crowd until I find Sasha, basically sober, pouring beer down a funnel and into some guy’s mouth. Okay this party is a bit too intense for me. I toss Connie over to Sasha who returns the favor by giving Connie a big squeeze and nodding me off. I am on hat duty. Basically I’m just the DD for everyone here except I won’t drive. I ask everyone who is drinking to give me their keys and put I them into the hat. Now they are stuck here, all nine million of them.

The party gets louder and heavier for the next couple hours but after an ungodly amount of Jell-O shots are taken the party seems to crash and burn around midnight. It is a sight alright. A hoard of wasted college students all crying, throwing up, and playing lazy games of truth and dare and never have I ever. The music has shifted from techno and pop to calming songs that seems to be lulling many inebriated souls into slumber. I felt tired and foolish from carrying the bag of keys for so long and decided to hand it off to one of the other DD’s who were going to end up spending the night. I find Connie asleep on Sasha’s chest as she played some old Nintendo game that might as well have been on mute. I say my goodbyes and try to find the front door.  
Turns out getting from one end of the house to the other is a difficult task. Layers of trash and passed out students are spread about the floor and tiptoeing around them is not my specialty. When I finally see the front door I quicken my pace. I’m stopped when a hand grabs my ankle and makes me fall face first onto the tile ground.  
“Oi what the fuck!” I yell. The wasted students didn’t flinch at the sudden loud noise but I heard a laugh emit from the culprit on the ground. I turn my phone’s flashlight on and aim it at the guy.  
“Reiner?” I ask. I didn’t expect to see him again but I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at a party like this.  
“Why are you on the ground?” The blond chuckled before speaking.  
“Sorry bud I thought you were Bertie.” His voice is a whisper and his face is close to mine. He shoved my head down smashing my face into the ground again.  
“WILL YOU PLEASE STOP--?”  
“Hush here he comes. And turn the damn light off.” I oblige and turn my phone’s light off and hide my face. Footsteps are heard coming from down the hall.  
“Reiner?” Whispers a voice I recognize as Bert’s. “Where are you?” I watch the converse shoe land between our faces. The most malicious and terrifying grin can be seen invading Reiner’s face. I feel a wave of true fear in that moment. His hand clasped over Bert’s ankle and the boy fell just as I did, face first. Watching him fall is one of the most majestic things I have ever seen. It is almost in slow motion. The scream that parted the brunette’s lips is one of the highest pitched squeals I had ever heard. This sound is followed by a horribly loud thud. This is followed by the thunderous laughter of Reiner. Reiner is just about screaming into the ground and Bert is lying still on his stomach with his hands by his side. He is either dead or too embarrassed to move. I hope it is the latter. Eventually I laugh along with Reiner.  
Apparently the two of us laughing is too loud because right when I chime in I hear Satan’s ass screaming at us.  
“HORESFACE IF YOU DON’T SHUT THE FUCK UP I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL RIPS YOUR BALLS APART SLOWLY AND VICIOUSLY AND FEED THEM TO MY DOG.” The threat is enough to shut me up but Reiner only laughed louder. Bert and I both give Reiner’s meaty arm a whack to shut him up. I am too apathetic to even have the will to get angered by Eren Jaeger right now.  
“Alright Jaeger lay off I’m leaving now anyway.” I stand up and watch as Reiner and Bert do the same. They follow me out the door and halfway down the street. I can hear them mumble about god knows what behind me.  
“Where’s your car?” I ask when there are less cars and we are reaching the end of line.  
“What?” Reiner asked.  
“Your car. Where is it?”  
“Well.” I stop walking and turn to face them. Bert looked like he is about to hurl. “Oh my god Reiner you said he was going to drive us home.”  
“I was hoping he wouldn’t notice us getting into his car.” Bert let out a loud cry and I only roll my eyes. This guy is spit fire alright. Much like Connie but less childish and more mischievous.  
“Fine.” I say. “I’ll drive you home.”

Driving at night is both scary and calming. In tired paradox of my own mind I find myself driving towards my own apartment. I ask Reiner where I should take them but he just brushed off the manner and continued to poke around with radio. A couple minutes later we enter Manhattan again.  
“Yo kid what’s your name anyhow?” I blink. I forgot I never mentioned my name.  
“Oh. Jean.” I said allowing my French accent to flow through. I hope the exaggeration will be enough for them to pronounce it correctly. Reiner said some joke about my name that I end up missing.  
“Okay, Jean.” He said, saying my name in an even more exaggerated voice. I shake my head and let him continue. “I’m Reiner as you know. And the sweaty kid in the back seat is Bertholdt. Feel free to just call him ‘Reiner’s date’ or Reiner’s boy’. That’s what most people do.”  
“Please don’t.” Bert whispered in the back. I assure him that I won’t do such a thing. He looks genuinely grateful.  
I shut back up for the rest of the ride thinking about nonsense. Truthfully I focus on how to spell Bertholdt’s name. I thought his name was Robert or just Bert. I’m surprised to hear such a weird name but I guess on a Manhattan campus you should be prepared for this shit.

I park my car in my usual spot found in the dirty parking garage. The music stops and the hum of the engine ceased leaving the three of us in a darkened silence.  
“So,” I begin turning to face the two of them at once. “Where are you going?” Reiner just looked at me blankly. I sigh.  
“Okay fine you can spend the night at my apartment.” Both he and Bert jumped and cheered. I ignore their excited applause and climb out of my car. It felt strange to bring two rather gigantic strangers to my apartment but I suppose they seem nice enough.  
It isn’t really dark outside because of all the city lights. Manhattan never really got truly dark. I went camping one time and just like in the movies and books I am amazed at the sight of the stars. However I am glad to return to the city. It’s easier here. New York carries a life with it. It is one of the few places that has its own natural vibrancy. I loved it. It feels like the ground is moving all time. I suppose it is, with the millions of pedestrians and taxis flying about.

Reiner and Bert stayed close to me. When I walked into the upscale apartment building they gave each other a look but continued to follow me.  
“What floor are you on?” Bert asked me when I entered the elevator.  
“Top one.” I answered quickly.  
“Jean,” Bert replied beginning to give me an unsettling look, “are you…you know.”  
“What?” I asked. Oh. “Rich? Yeah.” Reiner gave out a little squeal. I only roll my eyes and wait for the metal doors to glide open. Turns out both Bert and Reiner are not accustomed to people with a lot of money. One look at my apartment and they lost it. They compared me to Connie and Sasha’s places. I grew up with Connie and he didn’t have as much money as me but he was in the same square. We met at a fashion photo shoot and we both snuck out to eat the food before allowed. He had hair then. He actually looks better without it.

Reiner, much like Connie, flopped down onto my couch and exclaimed, “Beer me.” Bert only shook his head and this and whispered to me that he has had enough alcohol. I would have given him the beer but he is already asleep and under my blanket from the back of the sofa.  
Bert and I talked for maybe an hour after he crashed. Nothing too personal but I end up really liking the guy. We have a lot in common and he’s really nice overall. Eventually he went to sleep on the big chair beside Reiner and went off to my bedroom. Page break

I never woke up comfortably. Sometimes my eyes are too dry or I am too hungry or my feet are too cold or I have a big headache. Something is always wrong. Today isn’t any different. Chilly white light filtered its way to my eyes through partially closed blinds. I grunt and roll but the attempt proved futile when laughter erupted from the kitchen. I look at my phone and flick the screen. Eleven. Truthfully this is earlier than I was expecting to wake up. I’m not hungover but I did get home late and was further exhausted by the two heathens creating the loud noises coming from my apartment.  
I sit up and rub my eyes. My bones crack as I stretch and do so again when I stand up and head to my bathroom. I could have looked worse, but I certainly could look a lot nicer. I splash water onto my face and change into more comfortable and visually pleasing attire before heading back out into the fray. I discovered Bert poking around on his phone while his big boyfriend is standing in his underwear in my kitchen making breakfast. He is humming some theatrical tune that which Bertholdt completely ignored. Once they noticed I am in the room they said their good mornings.  
“Reiner’s making eggs, bacon, and cinnamon rolls.” I sit down in the bar stool beside Bert’s.  
“I didn't have any of those things.  
“I know,” Bert began. “You were asleep a very long time. Reiner was up around six and he walked over to the store a couple streets down. I woke up a little after and cleaned up a bit. Hope you don’t mind.” I shake my head. I was bit annoyed last night having two house these two strangers all of a sudden but I’m guessing this is their way of making it up. Connie hasn’t done anything this considerate in all our years of friendship. It doesn’t make him any less of a friend but it does emphasize how attentive these two are. I haven’t had a decent homemade meal in quite some time and the idea of it excited me more than I care to admit.  
I sit somewhat patiently as Reiner continued to make my piece of bliss for the day, His humming turned into singing. I’m fairly sure he is singing songs from musicals but I can’t say which ones. I want to say Rent or Hairspray but I can’t be positive. It is entertaining to watch him dance around while Bert merely continued to scroll through Instagram and Tumblr completely ignoring his partner. He must be used to it.

When I heard the timer go off I may or may not have gotten too excited and jumped a bit. I try to cover it up by grabbing my mug and taking a sip of coffee. The flavor is bitter (like my soul) and left me wanting my breakfast even more. Reiner slid a couple rolls onto three spate plates and added bacon and eggs to them as well. He first placed on in front of me, which I thanked him for, then one in front of Bert, who sat down his phone finally, and then stood on the other side of the counter to eat where he is standing.  
I took a bite.  
The taste is something indescribable. I would blame it on my empty stomach being greedy but I know this food is also just really well made.  
“Reiner how in the hell did you do this?” I ask not even attempting to hide my surprise and delight. Reiner merely chuckles at my question. Bert’s the one who answers.  
“Reiner did a year of culinary school. He is planning on becoming a chef.” His answer is simple and he took a bite of his food as if asking me to move on. I know I shouldn't want push at things further but I’m always really nosy.  
“So why did you quit school?” I ask, turning back to Reiner.  
“Money.” Came Bert’s reply. Reiner acted as if he didn’t hear the conversation and silently ate his food. Bert’s sudden curtness is enough for me to realize I need to back off. I nod my head and turn back to my food.  
Money though. I feel selfish and greedy for not considering that an issue. My family is wealthier than most and I grew up in ritzy areas of the world where I wasn’t surrounded by moderate income homes. I sigh to myself and take a swig of coffee before realizing Reiner asked me a question.  
“Sorry what was that?” I ask.  
Reiner smiled. “Bert and I are heading back to that new museum later and we were wondering if you wanted to join us.” Today is Saturday and I know I have nothing better to do. Scratch that, I have a lot of homework and a commission to finish.  
“Yeah sure. Thanks.” I reply. God dammit me. Oh well. If my trip to the museum is anything like the last one I’m fairly pleased with tagging along. Reiner and Bert continue their meaningless chatter beside me. I listen in at first hearing them talk about the rooms they didn’t go to during their first visit to the museum and the painting they wish to see again. I kept eating my food and allowed my mind to travel off into its own direction. I feel foolish that it almost instantly fled to Marco. I can’t say why but my brain seems to me obsessed with him. I suppose that means I am obsessed with him. I nonchalantly take yet another sip of my coffee. I hope Marco is there today. I know he won’t be since the odds are low. Even if he went to the museum I doubt I would coincidentally bump into him. I sigh in to my bit of eggs. Well damn.

The museum is far less crowded than it had been during my first visit. People scattered themselves sparsely across the rooms standing idly for long amounts of time. I suppose these are the dedicated artists that came back for the second visit. Like last time I’m forced to pay for the tickets, (not that I’m mad. I am the breadwinner of this threesome), and end up following the two I came here with. Reiner and Bert doddle around the ornate rooms with their hands entwined. Reiner seems more fascinated with his boyfriend than the paintings that surrounds him. Bert often distracts him with small glances, smiles and sweet kisses. Reiner is more than grateful for these things and returns the favors with the humblest grin I’d ever see.  
It’s not like I am jealous… but I’m a little jealous. Sure I have had more than one serious and committed relationships but nothing got so domestic and simple. And it’s not that I’m desperate or lonely but coming home to someone who is actually breathing, warm, and has a heartbeat sounds comforting. Everything sounds better than my gig now. I’m the richest kid on Wall Street but coming home to shattered stone and clay and the only noise coming from the heater in the winter and the AC in the summer. Being alone might be a bit glorified. Being alone so often makes you begin to do strange things. I pretend my kitchen is the Broadway stage too often and the ground is lava. Also I have too large a stack of drawings scattered about the apartment. Many of the drawings now are Marco. Thinking of which…  
Reiner and Bert are hold hands with their heads rested against each other as they sat on a bench facing a painting. Darling.

Without any warning I sneak away from the lovebirds and make my way towards the somewhat familiar hallway. I don’t remember the grey walls being this suffocating. Why am I nervous? It’s not like anyone is going to be in the empty room let alone a freckled Marco.  
I am right I suppose. Marco isn’t there nor is anyone else. In fact the door is closed and locked with a ‘do not enter’ sign hanging loosely on it. I frown to myself. I had gotten my hopes too high. I turn around to go and find the happy couple. At the end of the hall I can see a short girl blonde girl, not older than then, staring straight at me.  
“Historia?” I ask, not thinking about my choice of words. A smile grew on her face. She skipped towards me, grabbed my hand and pulled me away from the door. I didn’t object. She walked through most of the museum until we found ourselves in the back room. In the corner is one of the most beautiful women. She is tall, strong and built, but with soft feminine features. She reminded me of Marco. In fact her body is covered in freckled from head to toe as well.  
“Ymir! Ymir!” The child beside me is bouncing in her little shoes when she saw the woman. She let go of my hand and bounded towards her. At this, Ymir (I believed her name to be), turned and bent down to pick the younger girl up. She has a calm smile. A warming smile.  
“Jean?” Ymir said, beckoning for me to come over. I walk over towards her. With the child in one hand, she uses the other to pat me on the back quite aggressively. I flinch at the pain and found to my despondency Ymir noticed and chuckled. She isn’t like the others I had met here. She is loud and brash. It is refreshing to be honest however it did remind me of Reiner and could always use a break from that big goof.  
I clear my throat, deciding to stop being quiet and actually talk. “So… how do you know my name?”  
Ymir only offered a smile and shook her head. “Little birdy told me. Now, I have a big favor to ask of you. You ready?” Ymir spoke directly at me. Her brown eyes gazing calmly into mine. I recognize her then. I’m not sure how it took me this long. Her name and appearance are the same. It’s so obvious to me now that it’s embarrassing to have missed it. She has to have been the one from the painting. The muse perhaps. I can’t recall the year the painting is made, but here is the focus point standing right in front of me alive and breathing. I push away supernatural thoughts and settle with her being the model.  
“What’s the favor?” I ask, stopping my thoughts and ending the drawn-out silence.  
“Well,” Ymir began, adjusting her hold on the child. “As rude as it is,” she became bashful, shy even. She is oscillate in her actions. It is strange to see someone jump back and forth so sporadically. “Me and Historia here need a place to stay. I can’t tell you why but it shouldn’t for long. I know you don’t know us but it would be for a good cause and—.”  
“Okay.”  
“Wait. Really?” I nod my head. I am already taking care of two gumballs and two more shouldn’t be too difficult. Sure my apartment is not large, but I have more than enough money and the will to handle it.  
“So… do you have any stuff or….?” Her smile faltered and she shook her head.  
“No. It’s just us. I may be taller but I’m sure I can fit into your clothes.” She cackled at this. I tug on my sleeve and shrug. I suppose she could wear my clothes. As for the munchkin, we might have to go shopping.

“Yo Jean who are you talking to?” Reiner shouted towards from across the room. Bert is beside him shushing him for being too loud.  
“HE TALKING TO ME!” Ymir yells back at him even louder. Reiner gets a big dopey grin and Bert looks mortified.  
“AH SO HES TALKING TO YOU? WHY THE FUCK IS HE TALKING TO YOU?”  
“HE'S TALKING TO ME BECAUSE I'M TALKING TO HIM!” Bert whimpers and I do a classic palm to the face. Historia looks genuinely amused.  
“OH? WHY YOU TALKIN TO JEANBO HERE? HE'S PRETTY LAME!” Reiner at this point is shrieking at the very apex of his lungs. Ymir, once again, gave her witch-like cackle. Her snickering is almost louder than Reiner’s booming voice. It is loud enough for Bert to become a sweating mess and for a familiar face to come in and scold us. Levi, as it turns out, is more taken with Erwin that I had originally anticipated. I said Erwin liked me, heaven knows why, and that he wouldn't kick me out if I could get my group to settle.

Turning back to my group, which is a weird thing to consider them my people since I’ve known for no more than a couple days and am now living with them, and see Reiner has taken a liking to Ymir. She doesn’t seem to care if he had or hadn’t but it’s nice to know the future flat mates are getting along.  
“Jean this kid is cool. I vote we take her and her princess home and let ‘em live with us.”  
“About that Reiner…” I begin but end up trailing off. On the far side of the room I see someone familiar. My heart skips a beat when my mind jumps to Marco. That’s impossible though and I know it.  
“Ymir,” I say with the biggest smile I can muster, which of course is not large. “You can break the news to Reiner.” With that I go to follow someone who isn’t even here.

My shoes did not agree with the marble. That and the fact that I am speed walking through a museum made it really difficult to make it across one room to the next. I’m slipping every few steps and in any other occasion I would have been completely embarrassed. I mean, fuck, I am already following a ghost why not add stumbling over myself as I run through the place.  
Whoever I am chasing, whether it is Marco or not, isn’t found on the first floor. I sigh, feeling my lungs burn slightly from the adrenaline working the extra oxygen. I go up the stairs, slowing my pace but still taking two steps at once. I haven’t been upstairs yet and found it open and empty. There were tall windows on every wall brightening the empty lemon walls. A couple people are found sitting and talking to each other, but overall not very many people are up here. I walk slowly; I feel like I’m in foreign territory. It is far brighter up here and looking towards the windows would mean being blinded.

The giggles from the couple died away and the only noise to be heard is my heels hitting the ground beneath me. Marco wasn’t in the first long room, nor was he in the second. When I turned into the third room I could see him. Standing still, his hands clasped behind his back yet again as he stared out the tall window. The yellow light illuminated him much better than the florescent light ever did. His freckles looked like stars against his honey skin. I am weak and I know it. My knees felt like they’re buckling but I honestly don’t give a damn right now. I walk forward. Marco didn’t turn nor did he move. It almost looks like he isn’t breathing. I take a spot next to him and look out the window. Whatever is happening outside is not early as interesting as the side of his face. After is a long time but felt like a moment, he turned to face me. A smile grew on his face that suited so perfectly.  
“This is romantic is it not?” His words sounded like music and I let out a breath I forgot I was holding. I blink a few times and force a smile. I probably look absurd but he merely smiled grander and looked back out the window. He is gorgeous. His shoulders are broad and strong. His eyes are of the deepest shade of brown. His hair is almost darker than his eyes, but a few chocolate swirls were closer to chestnut than onyx. And although I felt myself melting into him, his scent, and his radiating warmth, I couldn’t ignore the uncomfortable feeling growing in my stomach. It felt like I had been told I have a week to live, or something equally worse. It is a negative feeling overwhelmed with fear. I stare at Marco. He gave me everything good in the world but packaged with it is a sickening taste of fear. He looked out of place. His clothes were pale and outdated. His hair, as dazzling as it is, appeared old fashioned. His entire existence is discordant with mine. It is interesting and somewhat stimulating but it isn’t normal. No one, no matter how unique, is that foreign and out-of-place in the New York City community. I like him for it. I clearly do. I’ve always been picky and with high standards. Damn.

“Jean are you up here?” I should go to Ymir but I keep my eyes on Marco hoping they would keep him right beside me. If feels like he’ll vanish if I look away.  
“JEAN GOD DAMMIT I KNOW YOU’RE UP HERE!” That makes me turn. Ymir is standing in the arch still holding Historia.  
“Hey Ymir. Sorry I was talking to—.” I turn.  
Marco is gone. That little shit.

Reiner and Bert didn’t ride home with Ymir and I. Reiner covertly spoke about ‘having something to take care of first’. Bert on the other hand said they merely wanted to take a stroll around the city. Hell knows why. I let them go their own way without a fuss. They aren’t my kids although Reiner’s childish behavior sure made me think otherwise. Historia is better behaved than him though she isn’t even near half his age. I think he could learn a thing or two from her. By the time Ymir and I arrived at my apartment Historia had fallen fast asleep in Ymir’s arms. I flick the light on, sighing at the sight of a place I spend way too much time at.  
“Jean this kid is getting heavy so can you can take her?” I nod and take the sleeping child from her. Ymir became increasingly quiet the closer to my place we got. Maybe it is that or perhaps it is us becoming increasingly distant from the museum. Her loud demeanor diminished and left her tired and quiet. I suppose suddenly moving into a stranger’s home because you were previously homeless could do a toll on someone’s mental condition.  
“I suppose we are going to need you guys some clothes and maybe a crib for her.” I say, nodding my head down to the kid. Ymir gives a small nod and buries her head into her palms.  
“Don’t worry about her,” she begins, her voice dry. “She’ll grow fast so she won’t need much until she’s older.”  
“Children do grow fast but she will still need some stuff until then.” I know I shouldn’t push Ymir in such a vulnerable state.

“Jean… She’ll be our age by the end of the month.”

I can’t say I never believed in the supernatural.

I act like a jackass but I’m pretty wimpy when it comes to vampires, ghosts, and wizards. Wimpy as in I grew up obsessed with the supernatural but too afraid to deal with any real life evidence. A week after Ymir moved in Historia grew from seven to twelve. He young girl looked a bit fuller and more mature. I chose to ignore it but it didn’t stop me from hearing their whispers at night about the pain Historia is going through because she is growing so fast. Their murmurs are always hushed but they were so serious and dissonant to the natural sounds of outside Manhattan coming through my closed window.  
Historia is not the only one to change rapidly. When I first met Ymir, oh not much more than a week ago, she had that same exhilarating taste Marco carried. Historia of course had it as well but it is never as obvious as the two freckled adults. Ymir felt like an outdated photo in the middle of a museum for contemporary art. Actually, that is what she is. Well, was. That foreign taste left with each day and she blended in well. She is wearing more modern clothes and spoke like all other New York college students. (Not that she had much issue with her speech in the first place.)  
Reiner and Bert always spent their nights in here, but generally ventured out into the city during the day. If they have nowhere else to go I’m not sure how they’re affording college but I didn’t want to step out of line and ask.  
Becoming the sudden caretaker of three broke adults and a demonic child has made me lose focus on classes and art. This past week I manage to attend most of them but I don’t do much work outside of them. Ymir proves helpful in cleaning the apartment clean and occasionally cooking odd lunches and dinners for the family. Bert helps with laundry and Reiner doesn’t help much except learning to sleep quietly. I like it though, coming home to people not living in literal filth. Yeah, it’s pretty chill.  
After two more weeks Historia has grown entire foot. She is a few inches above five inches and truthfully it freaked me out. I don’t know how long she has been alive and breathing but I do know that she has to have matured to about sixteen years or maybe eighteen. She developed into a pretty damn beautiful girl. Thank god Reiner and Bert are gay and good people because her living with three boys seems a bit too risqué to me. I have to admit that I miss the child I met her as but she is still young inside. She blew through her child so utterly fast and missed out on so much. She spoke as if she is our age and I know she has to have been smarter than me even without going to school. She acted normal and did fairly normal things throughout the day. Ymir became closer to her instead of acting as a mother for her.

It is Sunday night. I had recently fallen asleep after tormenting myself by listening to Ymir and Historia’s whispers. I wake up to screaming. My body is dripping with sweat and my lungs feel like they’re punctured. I’m not screaming though. I jump up and out of bed but hesitate before opening the door. I’ve always given her and Ymir space, let them handle whatever the hell is happening on their own. Her screams contort into more of a sob then eventually die down into a soft whimper. I rest my forehead against my bedroom door and listen. It sounded so painful.

“Historia… please… I’m sorry…I…”  
“God fucking damn it! Ymir why didn’t you fucking tell me then have me figure it out like this. You just fucking waited for this day to arrive and knew I would want to just die and…” Her voice snapped and her sobs began again. I can’t imagine what Ymir must be feeling right now. I sigh, feeling my eyes sag with slumber and my arms pimple from the chilly air. I climb back into bed and shut my eyes. Sleeping is futile as long as Historia kept crying and yelling. I could listen to music to drown her out but that seemed selfish. The whole point of crying is to be heard. So I’ll let her.

What I guess to be about an hour later, I find myself a shivering mess. Knowing I would soon die from dehydration or hypothermia, I rise to my feet and patter to the door. The light has turned off and the voices has ceased so I assumed the two girls were asleep. I turn the doorknob and give the door a nudge. I cringe at the loud squeak it makes and hastily pushed it open. The fridge is down the hall and to the right and the thermostat is down the hall and to the left. Damn.  
I get my water first. Reiner’s snoring covers the noise of me opening the refrigerator and even dropping the water bottle on the ground. Thanks man, I owe you.  
The Thermostat is actually trickier to deal with. It is SO VERY conveniently located next to the couch where Ymir is sleeping. Historia is in the big closet thing where I had bought an extra bed for the team to share. I don’t move slowly, but I move silently to the plastic box. I never touch this thing. Turns out it beeps fucking loud every time you press a button. I hit the up button once, wince, and then rapidly bump it four more times.  
“Jean?” Well shit. I turn around. Ymir is sitting up, her pillow looking untouched.  
“Ymir get some fucking sleep. You need it.” She huffs at me before pulling out her hair tie and plopping down onto her pillow.  
“Jean.” She says again.  
“What Ymir?”  
“Look… thanks okay.”  
“I…yeah, I know Ymir.”  
“No Jean,” she says sternly as she clutches onto her pillow.  
“You don’t know anything but you’re acting like it’s okay. I mean Jean, look at Historia!”  
I turn, the girl has aged a couple years within the last time I saw her today. Fuck.  
“She’s done aging Jean. And…and… and so am I. Tonight she fell over and fucking remember her past life. The damn life she lived with me and you and Marco and…” Ymir cried into her pillow. I'm not even in awe. I'm not surprised. I can’t say I knew this already or that I understand it now, but it doesn’t surprise me.  
“Wait.”  
“Jean no please just ignore what I said.”  
“Did you say me? Marco?”  
“Jean please I’m begging you to not go to Mar—.”

I was already out the door.


	2. Part Two

Part Two

  
_That night, the fire was the largest and by far the brightest Jean had ever seen it. Time had passed since he initially joined the camp and advancing from moody kindergarten camper to moody young adult camp counselor wasn’t as great as he thought it would be. He was still bossed around and still had to take part in the lame arts and crafts projects. The only big difference was instead of wishing to be grouped with cute girls each year, he wished to be paired up with a stranger he called “Hot Guy”. Jean had gotten Eren twice, but after tossing the other boy into the lake the two were permanently split up. The following year Jean was paired with some crazy lesbian demon who called herself Ymir. Although admittedly that year was a good one, Jean still wished for Hot Guy. Well, the next year he sure as hell got it. Marco Bodt was a twenty-two year old pre-med student with more freckles on his face than stars in the sky; he sure as hell was hot, but he sure as hell was a lot more beautiful than hot, like a piece of art, almost._

Here’s the deal: Halfway through my reckless run through downtown New York City I find myself out of breath, regretting my rash decision to run, and dry heaving into a trash can for a couple minutes. This is not one of my proudest moments, but it’s true. I stand on the side of the street, call over a taxi, and climb in.  
“The new museum–I think it’s on Wilson Street or something like that.” I pant to the driver.  
The hefty man in front the seat swings his body around to turn to me. His lips smash against each other as he wheezes out a breath from his nose, allowing me to smell the cheap cigarette scent his damp-looking jacket carried.  
“Kid it’s the middle of the night; that place ain’t open.”  
“It’s fine I work there,” I lie lamely.  
It was enough for the driver to shrug before turning around and pulling away from the curb. The museum is only a few minutes away from where we are now, but it’s enough for me to sort out my thoughts.  
First, Ymir said that she and Historia are done aging. All and all, I’m not surprised, perhaps a bit disturbed, but I can deal with them later once we’ve all calmed down.  
Secondly, Ymir mentioned past lives. I knew something supernatural was going on, but I didn’t exactly stay and listen to her explain it, so I guess I’ll have to ask Marco, if he’s there at least.  
And that’s the last thing, and fucking truthfully, the most important: Marco. I hadn’t told anyone about him, I mean Christ, all I did was bump into some pretty looking fucker at a museum a couple times, I can’t be blamed for not making more of it.  
But Ymir’s absentminded blurting of his named confirmed any hidden suspicions I had about the man. He was involved in this -- I’m not sure how-- but I’m guessing he has to do with the whole “past lives” thing. Not only this, but also the fact that she looked at me and said “you and Marco” like me and him are plotting something, and as if we’ve had some past life together, as if I’ve lived before and have forgotten about it.

The cab comes to a halt and I hand some cash to the driver before stepping out into the chilly night. Only ten or so minutes ago I was marching here cock out and guns blazing, but now as I stand on the steps in front of the glass doors to this damn place, I have no fucking clue what waits for me inside. Fuck, I don’t even if Marco will be there, or if I’m just on a really fucked mind trip, or if I’ll go in and get all the answers to the questions making laps around my mind.

Ah, _fuck it._

 

It’s quiet inside. I expected strict security, but I waltzed right in the place without any troubles.  
It’s dark too. The entrance is visible with the nightly shades of blue seeping into the windows, but as I venture farther into the building there were rooms that were lit by city lights through tiny windows between paintings, and some with no light at all.

“Hey Marco?” I begin, feeling foolish as hell and starting to completely doubt my being here. He may not even be here, or can hear me. I’m acting like he's a ghost that’ll just pop up when I want. “So uh, I’m here, and I kind of know what’s going on? Ymir kinda mentioned you and, fuck, I’m just confused as hell.”

Well shit, this is uncomfortable.

I wonder, for a moment, if there is a security guard sitting lazily behind a screen laughing at me while he grabs his taser and cuffs.

Making my way up to the second floor proves difficult and I trip on the dark steps as I do so. My heel slips, and I feel myself stumble backwards.

My body tenses, preparing to fall and land painfully, but instead I feel large arms wrap around me.  
“Shit, I’m so sorry man. I just left something here, but I’ll go now, no need to call the--”  
“Jean.”

Marco’s voice grounds me. I turn around to look at my savior, his face is hidden in the shadows, but I can still recognize his voice. It felt familiar and safe, like I had listened to him speak a million times over.

“Oh. Hey, Marco.” I say casually.  
I dig my phone out of my pocket and turn on the light. I held it up to his face for a moment, confirming his presence.

His tan skin looked nice even in this shitty lighting. His warm eyes were flamed with anxiety as I looked at him.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing I, just…”

Then I remembered something.

_I met Marco in college one year and he was such a nerd. Not in the traditional sense, but in the way that he was smart, and determined, and truly and wholeheartedly cared school and those around him._  
_I, at the time, was a fucked-up art major who was good at art, but far from focused enough to get anywhere in my life with it. I think that’s why I met Marco. He took me seriously, listened to me, and looked at me like I was some amazing thing, which felt great coming from a damn masterpiece._  
_We fell in love that year. It was the farthest thing from perfect, but it was true, honest-to-god love, and it would last my whole life. In college we were nerds who passed around a red beanie and lived selfishly, completely and irrevocably in love and focused on one another._  
_But then shit hit the fan and now I’m a cop, in love with the owner of a flower shop._

“Jean? Are you okay? You were spacing out just now.”  
“Yeah I…” I look up at Marco. I remember falling in love with him, and kissing him, and I remember our children.  
“Jean?!”

This wasn’t like I watched another life of mine on some screen. These were memories. I remember what it was like to slide my hand into Marco’s, and the soft sugary taste of his lips. I remembered spending hours upon hours drawing the man, memorizing the patterns of freckles splayed across his skin. I remembered loving him, and spending a life with him. I miss my children, and going to the zoo with my _family_.  
For a moment I contemplate allowing myself to listen to my inner impulses and grab onto the stranger’s hand to pull myself up towards him. I want to embrace the man in front of me and tell him everything on my mind, as if he had the ability to comfort me.

“Marco I…” My voice is too weak to finish and it pulls me back to reality. Although that life with him is vivid, and very real to me, it isn’t my life now. I do my damndest to swallow thoughts of holding hands with this boy and testing his lips for the same sugary taste and replace them with what is happening now. I clear my throat.  
“Why didn’t you tell me, Marco?”  
“Jean what do you know?” He asks seriously. “Do you remember anything--”  
“You could have told me.”  
“No I always wait. I try to give you a life without me, untouched by all of this stuff. It’d be selfish of me to take your life away,.”  
“Wait. _Always_? Christ man I woke up this morning thinking there were some fucked up college students crashing at my place, not a group of reincarnating ghosts. I mean how many lives have you lived? When was your first?”  
“I-- the timeline is getting a little fuzzy after so many years.”  
I shook my head and glared at the freckled boy.  
“I’m sorry. What can I do? What are your questions? I know you’re mad when you make that face.”  
“Okay for starters, can you please not act like you know me.”  
Through the dark I can see Marco’s face furrow and frown.  
“I know that you do, and you mean no harm, but it’s still weird okay?”  
He nods.  
“Sorry. Can we just go back to my place? I feel like we need to group up with Ymir so I can set my head straight. I’m also hungry and it’s the middle of the night so I’m tired and--”  
“I can’t leave.”

 

I vaguely remember my first conversation with Marco. I was all flabbergasted and excited by the handsome stranger, thinking of trivial things like my fashion choice for the day and his sexuality. I had asked if he was stuck here, and he replied with the ominous “something like that”. I didn’t know how truthful those words were until now.  
“Oh so...you…?”  
Marco smiles. It’s weak and feigned, but he offered it as a way to comfort me. Regardless, Marco is a kind fucker.  
“There is a cafe back downstairs though. I can get you some food and tell you everything.”  
“Everything?” He nods as he directs back down the stairs.

 

“Alright Jean,” he begins, pausing as he grabs a mug from a cupboard and places it under a coffee machine. “What’s your first question?”  
I hesitate in my answer. My stomach is upset, both from being hungry and also from my terrible anxiety about the situation. I try to focus on his question, and shuffle through my own as they swirl around in my head.  
“Well first of all, do you know why there is no security in this place? I shouldn’t be able to just walk right in here.”  
“Right. Levi, the head guard here, is one of us. He knows what’s going on and keeps the security lack around here. Ymir probably called him and told him you were coming so he may have unlocked the door from his phone or something.”  
“Levi? The short guy that my professor flirted with?”  
“Erwin? Yep.”  
“Wait. Erwin too?” Marco nods, a sheepish grin grew on his face as he raised sugar in his hand to ask if I wanted any.  
“Yeah that’s fine. But I guess this leads me to my next question.” Marco set the coffee down in front of me before setting another cup another the machine for him.  
“And that is?” He inquired.  
“Who is “us”? Who’s all involved in this?”  
“There is no point in naming names. Memories will come back to you, but for the most part, all the people you are close with. That’s kind of how this works, we all are reborn in a universe together and live together only to die and be brought back to the next one together.”  
“So is Connie…?”  
Marco nods. “Don’t you remember anything? At least one life? Wasn’t Connie in it?”  
I shut my eyes for a moment and focus back to the other life I’ve recalled. It’s hard to move my attention away from Marco in the memory, but eventually I remember other people.  
“Yeah. He was my friend. Sasha too. Actually a lot of people I know were there.”  
“Sounds about right. Let me ask a question, ” Marco begins, sitting on the stool next to mine and placing his own cup of coffee on the bar. “Are Connie and Sasha together yet? It takes them a while to get together sometimes and it’s such a shame.”  
“They just got together a couple weeks ago. It’s creepy that you knew that though.”  
“Sorry. But a lot is the same every time. The settings change each life, but we are more or less the same people. So we are drawn to the same things each time around. Connie and Sasha always get together, Erwin is always in love with Levi. You’ve been an artist in nearly every life, the ones where you weren’t you couldn’t or loved art regardless.”  
“Oh. I suppose that makes sense, but it’s still weird.”  
“Yeah,” he responds, breathing out a chuckle before taking a sip of his coffee. I do the same giving myself a second to think of my next question.  
“Okay. So why do you and Ymir and a couple of the others remember all of these lives, but I don’t, and I don’t think Connie and Sasha do either.”  
“Ahhh,” he says. Marco looks at his coffee as he spun his finger on the rim of the mug.  
“That’s the thing Jean, I don’t know. Most of the lives none of us were born remembering. I’ve lived most of mine oblivious. I think most of us had. No one knew we kept reincarnating. But the past couple lives I’ve just known. I don’t know why though.”  
“And Historia and Ymir?”  
“Ymir has kind of… stopped aging. She hasn’t died in a while, she’s just been living and waiting for us. Historia took a while being born this time around. She aged quickly, like Ymir did before she stopped aging, and so she’s probably done too.”  
“Any ideas why?”  
“Nope.” He answered, his hands cupping his mug. “I’m really not an expert on any of this.”  
“It’s fine.” I said.

My temper is gone now. The mug in my hands is nearly empty, but I still hold on to it. Marco had turned on the lights above us, but it was still dark in the rest of the building. Sitting in this tiny cafe with Marco felt safe however. Memories of Marco holding me and kissing me told me I could trust him.  
I rest my head on my arms and turn to look at him. He had a familiar and serene smile on his face. I felt warm inside.  
“It’s late Jean,” he began, pausing to give me time to appreciate the perfect pronunciation of my name. “You should go home.”  
I shook my head.  
“Not just yet. I’m not really ready to face the crowd at my apartment.”  
“Roger that.”

He didn’t say anything else after that. He just sat with me quietly, letting me think about what he’s said. Thing is though, I don’t really think about what’s happening. It all makes sense, well I mean fuck, it doesn’t, it’s wild as hell, but I understand it. Instead, as I sit beside this man, I focus on the life I remember. God was I happy. I loved Marco so unconditionally it was damn near unhealthy. I loved him so seriously and for so long, that I memorized every tiny detail on him. I look up at him, testing my memory. Nope, I failed. He is even more beautiful and attractive than my mind could fathom internally. My eyes scan the freckles on his arm beside me. I knew all of them. I had memories of kissing each and every one of them. I only could wonder what he remembers about me.

“Jean.” He said quietly.  
My face heats up, immediately worried he could read my mind or some other bullshit he forgot to tell me.  
“Yeah?”  
“What is it that you remember?”  
“Oh.” I sit up and scratch the back of my head. “I remember us, and your flower shop, and I was a cop, I remember our kids.” I say, bashfully chuckling. He nods, a warm smile lighting up his face as he looks at me.  
“That‘s a good one.” He said to himself.  
“You said some things are always the same.”  
“Yeah.”  
“Are we always…?”  
“Together?” He asked. His warm smile still on his face as he looked down.  
“Not always. You’ve been with Eren and Armin a couple times. Mikasa too, I think.”  
“Eren?!”  
He laughed. “Yeah, Eren. I think all that hate makes for a passionate romance.”  
“That bullshit. What about you though? Didn’t know the universe was such a matchmaker.”  
“Hmmm.” He said, his smile fading in the slightest amount. “Just you.”  
I felt my stomach drop and my face catch fire.  
“Oh.” All the lives I lived with someone else now feel like such betrayal to Marco. “Sorry.”  
“Not at all.” He concludes, shaking his head amiably. “It’s the name of the game.” Marco feigned a smile. “Jean, I can tell you everything about every other life we’ve lived. But in this current one, I have no clue what’s going to happen.” He took a moment to pause and rub his freckled arm. “But regardless. But no matter what happens or where you go. I’m your person okay? Just, don’t forget that. Please.”  
My stomach does a couple flips.  
“No. I won’t.” I answer, my voice weak.  
Marco reaches over to and takes my hand. His skin soft and warm. Soft and warm.

_Marco’s skin is so soft, and so warm. It feels like the safest place place I could be. I was surprised, at first that is, that his skin was so fleshy and so real. I was expecting a cold and dead feel, but hey, I’m not complaining. Marco is the happiest and most wonderful thing in my life, regardless of him being a ghost. I know it’s unhealthy, and I know I shouldn’t feel this way, but I love him, and I am completely prepared to live in this bookstore and sleep in his arms every night._  
_There isn’t anything else I need._

“We’ve been through some shit huh.” I say, once my mind has settled back into reality. My stomach is knotted like pretzels as I look up at the man before me. The beauty that radiates gives me the same anxious chill I get from looking at my pizza microwaving; like I shouldn't get too close, it might be dangerous, but at the same time I’m too excited not to.  
His pointed canines make an appearance as smiles, he chuckled softly behind his lips, warmth seeping off of him like a hot bath, ready for me to slide into.  
“Did you remember something?” He asked earnestly.  
“Yep. I remember the time when you haunted the bookstore I worked at. We had a lot of fun that year.”  
He hums in agreement.  
With so many memories of loving Marco pounding against the side of my head, it's easy to feel comfortable around him. In such a short amount of time, I have become more at ease with him than I am with Connie. Fuck knows what all he remembers about me, but it's relaxing to be with someone I've been so close with. It may have been years since our lips have touched or our fingers have locked, but regardless he is still my person, my rock and other half. I know what he was trying to say earlier. He is someone I can depend on forever.  
“Can you tell me about our other lives together?”  
“Wouldn't you rather remember them yourself? It’s difficult to summarize an entire life.”  
“That’s true I guess. Then can I ask you other questions?”  
Marco nodded, but his eyebrows were raised in question.  
“How about we go walk around? I'm afraid I’ll fall asleep if I sit here any longer.” I digress.

We make our way around the ground floor a couple times before deciding to go upstairs. I asked him questions about his current state. Turns out he can control his visibility, but it gets harder when he's tired or distracted. He can eat and drink and use the restroom, but he doesn't have to do any of it if he doesn't want to.  
“I’m in a limbo right now. I can hit pause at any time and my body will be ghostly, not need to eat and digest or even pump blood. But walking with you now, I like to be real and alive, to feel your warmth and feel my heartbeat quicken and steady. I can shut it off, but I rather be alive right now.”  
Marco also clarified that at night he does this ghostly sort of sleeping where goes as far from alive as he can and is essentially _gone._ The idea of it scares me; what if he can't claw his way back here? One day he could slip too far away and not make it back.  
I think he could see my discomfort because he casually guided me to the big windows on the upper floor and changed the subject. He sat down on the floor facing the glass and patted the wood beside him.  
Sitting next to Marco was the most comfortable thing I had ever done, albeit on hard ground.

“Why can't you leave?” I ask, breaking the silence. It was my last question and it had been dancing around my head for the past hour. It wasn't serious, but I was so scared of the answer, that it took all of the bravery and strength my tired body had to ask it.  
Marco hums for a moment, a placid smile on his face as he looked at the bright New York streets below.  
“That’s something I don't know.” He began at last. His eyes remained trained on the taxi cabs and pedestrians below, as if one of them harbored the answer. “But I think it has something to do with our original life. We lived in a merciless time then, fighting for the lives of our loved ones everyday, and praying every night to see the sunrise. Well a man, I can’t remember who now, felt that us soldiers and commanders were important people. In attempt to make us immortal he began painting portraits of us, using our own blood in the paint to magically bond our soul in the painting. Eventually someone was to decode some riddle and find a way to awaken us. It turns out that whoever bonded us with these paintings did a poor job and we just kept coming back to life, memories erased each go around.”  
Well this is fucking huge. Why didn't he say anything about this earlier?  
“What does this have to do with being trapped here.”  
“Right. Well, I didn't get a painting. I believe I died originally, so the man built a sculpture of me to try to bring me back to life. It worked just as well as the paintings up until now.”

“I wish you could leave.”  
“Why? You have enough dead kids hanging around your place.”  
“Yeah, but you know.”  
“I don't?” He said, looking at me blankly.  
“Christ,”. I stammered, my face heating up without warrant. “You know we were married in past lives and stuff. I kind of figured you're my friend.”  
At this Marco smiled a real toothy grin that was so big and bright I could've sworn it was trying to compete with the sleeping sun.  
“Yep Jean. It’s you and me.” He said, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and pulling me in right beside him. “No one knows us better than each other.” He spoke like I just cracked the riddle from _Good Will Hunting._  
It struck a chord in me. Marco was right. Regardless that we’re not in a relationship this lifetime, he is my soulmate. I have spent such little time with this man, but I have never felt more at home than I do cradled up against him, looking down at the breathing streets beneath us.

I hum in agreement before defeatedly resting my tired head on his shoulder. He tenses, but doesn't move away.

It's silent in the museum, aside from the cars outside and distant thump of the city’s heart.

“So what now?” I ask, letting my eyes shift from the black window to Marco’s hands. He twiddled with his fingers.

“I don't know, Jean.” He replies.

I nod, taking a moment to bask in the way my name casually rolls off his tongue, like he’s sucking on a straw to his favorite drink.

“It's not like there is any objective or mission. Everything just is. So I guess we keep on living and waiting.” He finishes.

I hum in thought, looking back at the window in front of us. I could faintly see our reflection in the nightly glass. Resting my head on my handsome former-husband’s shoulder makes me feel clingy, but I keep my hand in my lap and sigh.

“No. I'm going to make it my mission to find a way to get you out of here.”

“Why’s that?”

“Don't fish for compliments,” I jester, nudging him. “You’re the only person I’m close with now. Reiner and Bert have each other, Ymir has Historia, so I want you. I think it sounds fair.”

Marco chuckles. His white smile contrasted against his reddened skin. _Cute._

“Besides,” I continue, deciding to run with this newfound confidence. “It's bound to be boring being here all the time.”

“Not all the time…”

“But…”

“Most of the time.” Marco finished. “But, please don't stress about it though Jean. You have a life to live still. I’m not trying to take that from you. I'm sure you're flat mates would agree.”

He was right. Of course he was, the damn bastard has a million lives worth of wisdom, I don't even have one.

 

It hits me then, and I wish it didn't, but it hits that I’m resting my head on stranger’s shoulder. I’m running on a distant dream. And god did those memories feel so real, but I still feel embarrassed by this intimacy. Without warning I sit up and slide away from Marco. I can see the look of confusion twisting on his face, but once our eyes lock, he offers a knowing smile and returns his attention back to the window.

“Jean.” He said, sounding like a wise, old man preparing to tell his grandson the secrets of the world. “Jean,” he starts again, a hint of melancholy bubbling in his throat. “Go home. I’m glad you came by, and I do hope this isn't too much for you. But please go home, talk to Ymir, and get some sleep. Your life isn't this curse. You're still okay Jean. Go to class, make some art, laugh with Connie. Just _live_ okay? You had dreams before this, before me. Don’t forget them alright?”

Marco is looking at me now. His big puppy dog eyes are cut with such gravitas that it's disorienting at first.

“Marco there’s no need to--”  
“We have lived so many lives full of love and happiness, but we have also lived far too many lives in pain. I have see all of my friends die, _more than once_ , and I’ve seen you fall to heartache and misery. We run on thin ice and it's easy to crack it okay? So spend time with your friends, get a girl, have some kids, buy a fancy house, and make beautiful art.”

His words surprise me. I knew he felt this way; he made it clear that none of this would be solved easily, but for him to ask me to move on, to live a life without him…  
“Damn it Marco I said I want to help you I’m not going to--”  
“--I don’t want your help.” He bites back, his back tensing as if he's readying for a fight. It surprises me at first, seeing such a gentle person snap.

I lean back and sigh. There isn't much I can say to that. Arguing would only lead him back to the same response.

“Alright.” I say, defeated. “I’ll live my life like I was, but I'm not just going to forget you. I'll talk to Ymir and make a plan okay?”

I let my hand lay on his shoulder, both to comfort him as much as myself. I wanted to see how far I could pull him towards me without him pushing away. “In the meantime is there anything I can do? Like bring you books or something?”

He shakes his head. “No, Jean. It’s not quite like that. I can kind of fade out of existence for a while if I want.” He feigns a smile, but relaxes into my touch.

“Huh, that's cool, I guess.”

“Not as cool as sharing a one bedroom apartment with four other people.”

“Fuck off.”

That earns a soft chuckle on his end.

“Speaking of which,” he continues. “You should go check on them. Make sure they're not wrecking your place.”

“Oh damn, god knows I’ll come home to Reiner glitter gluing some shit for Bert or something.”

“He’s not above that.”

“Not at all.”

We share a smile, warmth spreading over me as I realize I can leave now and it’d be on good terms, with optimism fueling the tension between us.

“Kay Bud,” I begin, standing up and stretching my legs. “I’ll see ya again soon.”

He nods and I bid him a farewell.

Once I leave the museum and enter the nightly beast that is New York’s streets, I stop and turn, looking up to the window where he and I sat. Sure enough he was still there, standing now, with a gentle smile on his lips. I start to wave, but he turns around and fades mysteriously into the inky, black heart of the museum.

 

When I returned to my apartment I found everyone back home, sitting in a dimly lit living room and watching _Friends_ off Netflix.

“Hey,” Ymir began. She looked tired, with heavy bags under her eyes and her ponytail preparing to slide off any minute. She didn't look as sad as she had earlier, but it was clear she had cried all the emotion out of herself a while ago. She and Historia were now snuggled up on the loveseat, the smaller girl resting sleepily on the brunette.

Reiner and Bert were similarly positioned, but they shared the couch. Reiner’s arm was draped loosely over his boyfriend’s shoulders as Bert slept against his side.

It was pretty damn peaceful in here and in spite of myself it made me want to run back to that damn museum and rip Marco right out of it, drag him down the street and shove him onto the couch, just so I could experience such domesticity like these people.

But I don't think it's that fucking simple.

Ymir kissed Historia on the head before looking back at me. “Did you talk to Marco?” She asked plainly, as if there wasn't a lot of subtext with her words.

“Yeah, I did. Sorry about everything, but it’s all fine now.” I answered, quietly tossing my keys on a table and stepping closer to everyone.

“How are you and Historia doing?”

“It's Christa now, just FYI.”

“What?”

“Her name, it's Christa. Historia is a bit dated.”

“Oh, sure.” I answer lamely. Christa offers me a knowing smile. We hadn't exchanged many words, but she was kind, and her smile expressed any gratitude and positivity she wished to share with me.

“Yo Jeanny Boy,” Reiner hollered at me, keeping his voice low as to not completely disrupt Bert. “You got any more pillows or blankets? Those lovebirds over there are hogging everything.”

Ymir stuck her tongue out and Christa offered an apologetic smile before I nodded and ducked out of the living room and into the hallway linen closet. I pulled out my only two remaining blankets and a pillow before returning and tossing them onto the boys.

“Thanks mate.” Reiner said, already unfolding one and draping it over Bert.

The sight made my heart ache and moan, but my exhaustion distracted myself.

“We’ll talk tomorrow yeah?” I ask, already turning to my bedroom. Reiner gave me a thumbs up and Ymir looked over and nodded. “Alright, night then.”

I head back to my room after being wished a good night from all my sleepy roommates and close the door behind me. I feel selfish for keeping the master bedroom for myself, but then again I'm the one doing them all a favor. Sort of.

After kicking off my shoes and slipping into comfortable sweatpants and a tee, I plop down onto my bed and greedily bury myself into my covers. I feel more tired and calm than I had earlier, but my mind still is able to dance with the thoughts of Reiner’s chivalry, and the weird fact that Ymir is now romantically engaged with this cute girl who, only days ago, was a prepubescent child. And then of course, without fail or hesitation, my mind drifts lazily onto thoughts of Marco. It begins innocently enough: me plotting ways on how to get Marco out of the museum, or planning when I was going to see him next, and even digging into the very darkest crevices of my tired brain searching for memories of past lives, hoping the answer to all this bullshit is just buried in there. But then, before I know it, I find myself blushing alone in my room with a knotted stomach as I think about the man’s soft brown skin and his even darker freckles that matched his chocolaty hair. Marco was attractive and warm, and it took every ounce of power I had to try to move my thoughts away of holding hands with him, kissing his soft, plush lips, or even dream what his skin under his shirt and boxers must be like, if it was soft like his fingers or if it carried more strength to it.

Angry with myself, I flip my pillow over to the cooler side, roll over, and pull the comforter up to my chin. I'm damn determined to get a good night sleep, free of all things reincarnated, if it's the last thing I do.

_A calloused hand drapes on top of mine as I read from a textbook for class. I flinch at the touch, finding it unwelcome, and I almost ask him to move it until finally conceding once I convince myself that it was innocent._  
_Of course it wasn't, though._  
_I should be more cautious with people. I used to be so good at keeping people at arm’s length, but once I find myself sitting too close to him I find the words on the page blur and my heart quicken._  
_“Hey…” I start softly before being interrupted by his lips crashing against mine. His grip on my hand tightened into a iron clasp. His mouth made its way from my lips to all around my jaw and then down my neck. For a terrifying moment I don't respond. I let my mind fall out of my body as I watch the scene unfold._  
_His other hand finds the button on my pants and that was all it took for the primal side of me to finally awaken. I knee him off of me._  
_“What the fuck Eren?”_  
_“I thought we had something.” He said panting. A hard on pressed against his pants as he peers into me desperately. I could only muster a weak apology as the boy turned and walked out of room._  
_I feel conflicted for a moment before being completely enveloped with a sick and traumatized feeling. My stomach churns as I grab my phone and dial his number._  
_“Hello?”_  
_“Hey, Marco…” I begin, my voice tightening at the end. I feel tears burn down my cheeks._  
_“I’ll head right over.” He said, not missing a beat._

Ya know, you’d really think I’d wake up more upset that from that. But instead I open my eyes for a moment as I roll over to the cooler side of my bed and sigh. The “dream” was just another memory forgotten, now being re-added to my mind.  
I just got home from spending a couple hours with the man, but in the moment I really wanted Marco beside me, especially as I listen to the soft snores and murmurs of the lovebirds in the other room. It’s hard to fall asleep in an empty bed with multiple lifetimes worth of memories sleeping beside another man.  
All in all, I don’t find myself dozing back off until at least an hour later as remember Marco’s warm arms and deep sleeping breaths from forgotten lives.

 

_It was damn near impressive how quickly Marco’s hands slid under the hem of my shirt and up to my chest. Something inside me rattled against my ribs, and it took me a second to catch my breath and realize that it was my heart, pounding against my bones just to try to get an inch closer to Marco with each thumping beat._

_“Jean.” Marco panted. He leaned away from me with flush lips and half-lidded eyes._  
_“We should stop,” He finished, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. “I’m getting too…” He drifted off, his cheeks reddening. With it only being Marco and I in the security of my bedroom a rare occurrence happened and I found myself answering him by placing a soft kiss on his plush lips._  
_“Are you sure? We don’t have to do anything, if you’re not--”_  
_“Marco.” I stopped him, a gentle laugh rising from behind my voice. “It’s okay. I want to.”_  
_That was enough for Marco. He smiled before pressing me softly against the bed._  
_“Well okay,” He said rolling his eyes jokingly. “If you insist.” Marco’s deep voice vibrated against my ears as he left tender kisses from my jaw to my collarbone._  
_“Seriously, Jean, we can stop whenever just say the word.” My arms wrap tightly around his neck, keeping him pressed against me._  
_“Oh Marco,” My voice romantic and thick with lust. “Enough chit chat.” I feign a couple slaps against his cheek that results in the both of us giggling. It was short lived, though, because both of our lips found each other’s and we crashed against each other. Marco pressed down against me, his hardon pressing against mine through many fabrics. I roll my hips at the touch and in return a golden moan slipped through Marco’s lips and through my teeth. I felt like I won the lottery then, and it gave me an even greater sense of confidence. I tugged at the hem of Marco’s shirt. He got the message and promptly sat up before removing his dark green sweater and tossing it nicely onto the floor. He did the same for me afterwards, gently lifting my own shirt off on my back and dropping it on top of his. As he did so I greedily watched him, admiring his toned muscles bulging through his tanned and freckled skin. I was nervous, not afraid, but nervous. Marco was my closest friend and had been for over a year. Never the less, as he pressed against me, his bare skin on mine, it was a new feeling. My nervousness arose from the same place that nervousness before witnessing a performance or knowing you are about to experience a once-in-a-lifetime moment originated from. I was nervous because I knew I was as welcomed to Marco’s body as much as I was welcomed to stand in awe at famous artworks in museums or witness live musicians perform their talent. Marco’s body was a gift as much as it was an honor, and I was well aware that the next things that were to happen will pluck at the strings in my heart that had been specially reserved for a single other person: Marco Bodt._  
_Marco must have sensed my emotions because hungry kisses returned back to gentle and he nuzzled against my cheek while he stroked a thumb against my temple._  
_“I love you Jean.”_  
_“I love you too.”_

This time, I wake up crying, my heart aching, and my body physically _throbbing with want._  
So much for a night without the reincarnated.

 

It's not even noon before I get a phone call from Connie. The nerds in my living room are startled by the ring and all watch me with wide eyes as I answer the phone. But surprise, surprise, it's Connie, whining about my lack of communication with the boy and asking me to spend some time with my “goo’ pal”. Before answering him I look at the group in front of me and mouth Connie's name. To my chagrin they only seem more invested in my phone call, Reiner even being brave enough to whisper “speaker” to me.  
Glaring at the man, I cover my other ear with a finger and turn around to head into the kitchen.  
“Yeah, yeah sorry Connie, I've just been busy.”  
“Busy? The hell you've been up to mate? I swear if I come over and you’ve just been fucking around in your studio–”  
“Christ, when did you start talking like me?”  
“Sasha has the mouth of a sailor.”  
“That so? Well you can tell me all about her when I see you.”  
“Sounds good, be there in like, an hour.”  
“Wait, Connie–”  
The fucker already hung up.

I take a moment to gather myself before walking back towards the living room.  
“How’s Connie?” Bert asked on behalf of the group. They all seemed very invested in my answer and it tugged at my heart to see all these people missing their friend.  
“Good, he's coming over soon, but uh…”  
“He doesn't remember us, it's okay, Jean, we know the drill. We can step out for the day, go check in on Marco or something.” Ymir said.

Hearing Marcos name made me flush like I got called out on some dirty secret. It was foolish, really, because all of these fucks had memories of coming to mine and Marco’s wedding, _multiple times_ , as well been our friend for, fuck, probably decades? Still, the thought of Marco had me weak.

A gentle smile grew on Ymir’s face in place of her normal grimace.  
“Yeah okay, sorry guys.” I finally mutter.  
They don't seem to mind as they all stand up and stretch, planning their day out together. Christa came up to me then, her presence still jarring, and stood beside me, crossing her small arms making her baggy sweater bunch.

“You okay?” She asked.  
“Yeah, it's a lot,” I answer honestly. “But I don't know, it all somehow makes sense, like some things are just clicking.”  
“That’s good then,” she offered. “Any messages for Marco?”  
“No–I, uhm…”  
“Got it.” She said giggling before clearing her throat. “This may be blunt, but he cares for you Jean. I have fifty billion lifetimes of evidence to prove that. Through it all Marco has fallen in love with you time and time again and I can just feel it. I can feel the tether between you two this time. I can't claim to know your feelings, but I know that the fateful string has bound the two of you together yet again. So if you need something, or someone, of course you can come to me or any one of us, but I'd recommend going to Marco. His heart has solely been centered around you for all of his existence. You'd be doing the man a dishonor if you ignore it.”

I looked at her. Her big blue eyes were young and twinkling. If I didn't know her I’d think she was a teenager, and a happy and bubbly one at that. But with the knowledge I have, looking into her eyes signified something a lot more powerful. I knew Christa had years and years of wisdom I could only hope to remember.

“Tell him I’ll visit him again tonight.” I said after a beat of silence.

 

Connie arrives exactly at the hour mark, and by that point I'm actually excited to see him. Even if I had memories of past lives with the man, in this life I know him to be my good friend. Being thrown into such crazy shit last few days really put my friendship in perspective, I guess. It really just made me miss him. Regardless, it's a welcome distraction.

“Oh Jean,” Connie begins once I open the door for him. He steps past me slowly with sagging shoulders.  
“Connie?” I close the door behind him. “What’s up? What's with the emergency meeting?” Nervousness slipped into my voice accidentally, and Connie noticed. He glanced up at me, trying not to smile before surrendering and crashing me into a hug.  
“Nothing boyo. I just miss ya and I’m hurt that you haven't called.”  
I roll my eyes. There was no reason to be nervous, I remind myself, because Connie was still a part of the world as I currently know it. At this point I don't think he could say anything to surprise me.

Eventually the two of us settled on the couch with a couple of beers that followed jokes about being noon alcoholics.  
“How’s the broad?” I ask.  
He sighed, a gentle smile on his face as he told me, “good”.  
He looked humbled in that moment, which was rare for Connie. He wasn’t an asshole, but it was surprising to see his cocky attitude replaced with such a sincere one.  
“Jean, fuck, I really like her. Like _really like_ her. It’s hard to explain, and I know you’re going to think I’m crazy, we haven’t been dating for long at all, but I love her. It feels so silly that I lived this long without her.”  
“Since when did you become such a romantic?”  
“Oh fuck off man, you’ll understand someday. Like you’ll find your soulmate and say just as much crazy shit as me.”  
“Yeah okay, Romeo.” I say jokingly before taking a swig of beer. I act nonchalant but he made a lot of sense in that moment. Connie doesn’t know about the reincarnations and that Sasha probably is his soulmate, and has been and will be forever. It’s a warm thought, to think about my friend finding that person and falling in love.  
“It’s nice Connie.” I finish.  
“Yeah,” he nods. “It is. But Jean,” he turns to me then. The look in his eyes was one I had never seen before, not even in the archives of our past lives together. “Jean there’s something about her. Like something bigger than myself going on between us. Like fuck, I almost want to go to confession and ask some priest about it because I am beginning to believe some divine intervention is going on.”  
“That’s not what confession is for…”  
“Yeah, yeah. I just mean like. A night after me and her got together I literally had the craziest dream. Like, Sasha and I were getting married, and she was pregnant, I mean it wasn't shotgun or anything, but we were in love and you were my best man and you were with some guy that was friends with our Professor which is totally random, but then we all were friends and had a good time at the reception.”  
“Connie that's a really sweet dream.”  
“That's the thing Jean, it didn't feel like a dream. In like, eight hours, I got an entire lifetime shoved in my mind. I woke and boom! It's like I had lived before. It's hard to explain, I know I don't make any sense. But I can't get over this feeling that I lived that life, or I'm predicting the future. Didn't you tell me you ran into a freckled guy? Because the guy you were with in my dream was a very vivid and real looking freckled dude. Just your type too!”

Connie had me flustered then. Not only was my friend on the sane side of my life dipping into the fucking insane, but he was literally talking about the man I've loved like he was some crush, some cute guy across the bar to ask out, just see where it goes. I feel irritated, but it quickly tapers when I look at Connie’s crazy-eyed look. He really was troubled by this. In that moment I want to tell him. I want him to know everything that has been going on. The idea of combining the two worlds and validating myself is so appealing that I almost tell him, but I remember Marco telling me how he could never take my life away from me by telling me, and it finally makes sense. As much as I want to have a partner in this this, I realize that I couldn't do this my friend. He deserves to live his life without this burden for as long as he can.

“I don't know Connie, but it sounds like something good. The important thing is you have Sasha, so whatever crazy shit it going on with you I wouldn't worry about it.”

Connie nods at that, taking a sip a beer and looking away. He probably thought I was oblivious to what he was talking about and missing the point completely, but I think he realized that I was right. He had this life, and he had Sasha now. It would kill me to see him waste it all chasing after this shit.

 

Once Connie left I damn near had a fit. I was left alone for less than twenty minutes before the clan came bustling in, chuckling and bantering as they walked in with a new Nintendo system and a million of the associated controllers. Ymir wasted no time in setting up the system and popping in a Mario Kart game, all four of my guests taking a corner of the screen as they teamed up girls versus boys, one couple versus another.

At this point in the day, all rationality had left me due to mental exhaustion and irritation and it took every ounce of generosity in me to not stomp over, unplug the damn machine, and demand the fuckers do something else besides piss around my living room.

But when I instead stormed off to my bedroom, I'm met with burning eyes and a lumpy throat because I just want Marco. Everyone else under the God damned sun has made an appearance in my apartment except for the one person I actually have learned to miss, and the only person I don't have to babysit.

I grab my keys and leave.

 

“So you left them in your apartment playing Mario Kart? Why didn't you just join them?”

Marco pulled some paintings that were resting against the wall together and slid them to the corner, opening up some space in the tiny storage room. I wish I had been able to wait until it was night and we'd again have the museum to ourselves, but the building was still filled with curious guests and artists, not like it was the first couple times I had come here, but still, Marco and I required privacy.

We sat in the room where we met. Er–met this time around. The thought made my heart ache, but Marco’s familiar smells and warmth was enough for me not to dwell.

“I don't know,” I answer. “Guess I didn't want to fifth wheel. Besides I wanted to talk to you again. Like, when I wasn't exhausted.”

Marco just nods at that. But I see something flicker behind his eyes.

I continue, sitting on a dusty and smelly couch once Marco picked up the empty frames off of it. The museum is new, so I didn't want to know where the hell they brought this sofa from.

“Connie is remembering too, I think.”

“Really?” He asked. Marco rolled his shirt sleeves up and stretched the strain out of his muscles before wiping his brow. I liked seeing him so undeniably, human. “What did he say?”

“He told me about a life he remembered last night. It's not one I remember yet, so I guess I can't validate it but still.”

“No yeah, you're probably right.” Marco said, finally taking a seat beside me, making the couch release a musty cough. “You should keep in touch with him then, he's only talking to you out of all us, and I doubt Sasha will figure this out.”

“Rude.”

He laughs. It's warm and just right, like every other time I've heard it. It brings me home. “That's not what I meant. I mean none of us could or can figure it out on our own. We didn't even think it was reincarnation until Ymir didn't die and watched us be born again.”

 _That must have sucked,_  I thought to myself. Each time we are granted the fact of having one another in our lives. It's a comforting thought to think that my friends are always beside me, but there was a life where Ymir had to watch us all age and die, and then wait for us. I mean, she had to have been alone for at least like, twenty years.

I look around the small room. The walls were white and the abandoned painting were rightfully so. I could even do better than most of them and it was an eyesore to see such disproportionate and bland beings all rest in the corners of the room. The couch was the only other thing room, pressed against the wall across from the big mahogany door we locked. The statue I admired during my first visit had been moved to another room, so not even that was here to grace us with its presence.

My mind takes a turn, and I get bombarded with thoughts of turning off the lights and returning to the couch to straddle Marco, just to hear his breathing hitch, before pressing my lips against his, taking all of his life and breath he'd offer.

“What was the life Connie remembered?” Marco asked. I felt like I was caught in the act. I should be embarrassed, but I look at Marco and instead am faced with memories of the two of us crashing together in heated love. Having sex with Marco could never again be something that embarrassed or flustered me. It was just another part of who I am.

“He didn't say much. He focused on his wedding with Sasha. He said you were friends with Erwin and we were together.”

“Huh, that could be a handful of them truthfully. But I'd imagine that would be his wedding in Italy.”

I nod, acting as if I had recollection of it.

“One time, Connie was an Italian major, fuck knows why I don't think he ever did, and he met Sasha in college and they got married there. But that wedding was really beautiful. I proposed at his reception too. So I think that may just be one of his most vivid memories. It's sweet, really, that that day was the first thing to come back.”

It was my turn to nod. Marco had his arm resting on the back of couch as he spoke. I took the opportunity to pivot to face him before leaning against his arm, feeling flirtatious enough to even grab his arm to properly lean into his touch. Unlike last time, he doesn't flinch, and instead offers me his kindest smile. I felt like my touch was just giving him what he was having withdrawal from. Like before I leaned against his arm he was bursting for it, the color out of his flesh. Leaning against him, being with him, was just so essential to our existence, and I had no intention of ignoring it.

“Jean,” Marco said, his voice almost breaking. The tone in the room switched drastically. I was afraid to make a misstep then.  
“Please just give me five minutes.”

Okay, right, well, that should not have made sense, but apparently the fucker used to ask me that all the time because my damn mind was clearly trained to lean into him then.

I close most of the space between us as I climb onto his lap and crawl into his arms, letting him wrap me in a tight embrace.

A lot came back to me then. A lot. Too many lifetimes and memories to make sense of any of it at once. But one stood out, allowing me to comprehend this current moment.

_“Jesus Jean! I really don't know how you could say that about me. You know I'd never want to hurt you.”_

_Marco was right. Of course the fucker was, when was he not? He was the top doctor in the country and had a million diplomas from prestigious schools mounted on his wall. Nevertheless, I'm sick of him being right._

_Him being right doesn't stop me from hurting unwarranted insults and vain comments to my husband. He didn't deserve it. Of course he didn't. Marco was the kindest man in the world. His heart was born in the same way that great symphonies and masterpieces are. As frustrating as it is, the man is the living embodiment of the famous artworks so universally cherished._

_At the end of my rant the man looked hurt. My heart wanted to feel good about that; was the that my intent in spitting vile words at him?_

_I just feel sick instead._

_Marco shakes his head abs wipes a tear from his eye. He was burning with rage was visibly upset with me._

_“Five minutes?”_

_I nodded. He paused our fight and fell into his arms, the both of us silently apologizing as we gave it up and rested._

Marco pulled my head to the crook of his neck and kissed the top of my head. It was so kind and gentle. It took me a moment to realize I was crying.

“Sorry, Jean. I shouldn't have asked you that. If probably reminded you of a fight.”

I nod and tighten my hold on his neck.

“I'm sorry,” he says again. “I shouldn't ask that of you anyways. I keep forgetting the boundaries between us this time.”

“No Marco.” I answer instantly, kissing his cheek. “its okay. It's just a lot. I remembered a lot of lifetimes just now, and it makes me miss you. Even if you're here.”

Marco nods again. I didn't have to explain myself.

Instead the man cradles me. We don't speak in that moment. We both know that words can't cover the lifetimes of love and laughter between us. They can't even begin to describe how much my heart aches for him all the time and how much I'd give just to have him follow me or off this museum. I am selfish. I know that somewhere in me I love this man unconditionally and the memories will never be enough. But regardless of how tightly I hold onto him I will never be able to hold him outside of this room until I die again and assuming he does.

“Marco?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you say fuck earlier?”

He laughs.

 

We waste two hours in the small room. It's impressive really, that two people who know each other as thoroughly as two people possibly can could talk for so long without a lull, but we both just like listening to each other. It's okay with me.

Eventually it's five thirty and the museum closes in half an hour. It takes us a few minutes to figure it out, but we find a way to contact Levi with my phone and ask him to clear out the museum when he can, including all security and maintenance. He sounds like his normal amount of annoyed and obliges.

That leaves us alone in the museum. _Finally._

The two of us turn into giggling little bitches then, because we laugh about dumb shit as we casually prepare coffee and microwaves leftover pastries. I took note of the fact that we moved naturally around one another. It’s hard to pull the memories of us doing this before out of my mind, but these actions had clearly been inculcated into my body. For once, I just left myself enjoy the domesticity in the moment.

Before asking, Marco was reaching over me up to the cabinet I couldn’t reach to grab the sugar for me.  
“Thank ya dear.” I say to him, taking the box from. I look at him, but I see im smile falter for a moment.  
“Sorry, shouldn’t have said that,” I add lamely.  
“Nah,” was his response. He offered me a new smile, but at that point it didn’t really make me feel any less guilty for stomping on the mood. Marco finished stirring the coffee and put the mugs down where we were about to sit. I slid a large piece of cake onto a plate and grabbed a couple forks and set it all down by the coffee. I considered splitting the cake, but I had years of experience of easing tension with Marco. I’ve learned that the answer typically was to show affection. So, I sat down and waited to grab a fork until he did so first.  
“Marco,” I cooed gently. “What’s bouncing around in that skull of yours?”  
He gave me a playful frown before I witnessed his tone shifting back to serious.  
“I’ve been blessed to have been able to live in love with you my entire existence and even more lucky to have lived lives with you, but even still it just really hurts that it’s over. I wish we didn’t remember those lives. I want to just see you at some party and get the nerve to go ask you out. I want to get sweaty palms before proposing and be taken aback when we walk down the aisle.”  
He looks sad, then.  
“Listen, Jean, I will always love you.” _Fuck he’s getting serious_. “No amount of time will weaken how much I love you. I could never regret the lives I’ve lived and I will never wish for you to be with me when you don’t want to be, because all I want is your happiness, but if I could be disgustingly selfish then I would wish that I could like, _court you,_ or be something more for you.”  
“Marco…” My voice was tight, and I shook my head.  
It’s silent for a beat, but I close our gap by taking his hand and scooching my chair right next to his, leaning up against him.  
“So…” I give him a nudge. “How would you do it?”  
“Do what?”  
“Ask me out.”  
He shakes his head laughing.  
“I’ve asked you out before.”  
“Yeah, but how would you do it this time?”  
My words finally hit him, and my seriousness sinks in.  
“Well,” he began. looking at the coffee in his mug. “You know me Jean, I’m not all that smooth. I'm not sure how I'd go about it.” He said, giving up.  
“Ah, come on. Humor me, if you didn't know me and like, saw me at a Starbucks or something, what would you say?”  
“Truthfully, if I worked up the nerve, I'd just go up to you and say “excuse me, I would love to take you out sometime, if you'll have me.”

Marco stops then, letting the room fall back to silence. My cheeks burn and I take a sip of coffee to cover it.

“Sorry,” he continued. “Like I said, I'm not all that suave or creative.”

His shoulders slumped, but the dreamy smile that rested on his lips remained.

“Not at all. It's so endearing I would accept. But you want to know a secret?”

Marco nods and I lean over to whisper to him, “if it's you I'm never going to say no.”

He goddamn giggles at that. It makes my heart bubble up like a freshly poured coke, fizzing up and overflowing. My whole life I had dreamed of falling in love the old fashioned way. I was prepared to meet someone at work or a bar, go on a first then second date, share a first kiss – you know, the whole shabang. But this is even better. I let my heart come out from hiding, and now it's standing witness to the greatest artwork ever created. Marcos soft laughs, his reddened cheeks, the way his strong hand sifted through his deep chocolate locks, it was all enough to have me floored, my heart skipping a dangerous number of beats as I look at the love of existence. I felt what it feels to be so safe, accepted, and loved by another person then. I could imagine us sharing a plush loveseat, surrounded by warmth and candles, twinkling lights all around to further guide us into our own little world.

Marco didn't chuckle from embarrassment or flattery, the noise came from the same place that love does. Joy? What is simply pure joy? I don't have the vocabulary to cover such emotions.

I take his hands in mine, my thumb tracing familiar patterns on his freckled skin.

“Jean you don't have to– I know your memory is still faded and you may not even be meant to love me this time and–”

“Marco,” I stop him, my voice remaining soft. “Don’t be silly, I’ve had a big ass crush on you since we awkwardly meeting met in like, five minutes, I think I'm meant to love you.”

His body relaxes at that.

“In that case, I’ve had enough of this sitting a foot apart thing. Come here.”

Marco rises from his stool, and holds my hand as I do the same. He pulls me in for an embrace before leaning down to bring our faces together. A gentle kiss is placed on my cheek before he leans back up.

“Hey, what the hell? I want a kiss!”

He laughs loud at that. His eyes crinkling and everything. I hold my visible pout and furrowed brow until he gains enough composure to respond.

“Hmm, not yet.”

What? “What?”

“Just not yet okay?”

“I–I guess. I hate to break it to you, but I'm pretty sure we've kissed before.”

Marco smiles, a look that's been created, blessed, and protected over the many years just for me to see. It's a smile forged for a proud display, and that makes me feel absolutely loved without exception.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....I'm back baby :)
> 
> (bebster.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
> Directly Referenced Fics:   
> Wisteria by butterflychansan  
> Keep that Breathless Charm by Jacklalonde

**Author's Note:**

> thaaaaaaaaanks ~~~~~
> 
> \- tumblr: edenslost  
> \- tracking: fic: WTGG and fic: Petrified
> 
> lol I'm cracking up WTGG is 'way to go girl' HAAAAA it relates to this fic jean needs more girl power in his lyfe ~~


End file.
